Chapter Seven
Alaya
I checked on Heller the next day. His nose was still swollen. He said everything was fine with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Seven days crawled by. Nothing changed, except my growing dread.
Now I’m heading to my wedding dress fitting in the downstairs lounge. My stomach churns with each step. Soon I’ll stand there while I’m wrapped in fabric like I’m a prize.
I haven’t seen Prince Kiernan alone since he came to apologise and ended up berating me instead.
What happened that night was terrifying. When I awoke near dawn, alone and in pain, I was shattered.
But it wasn’t a sudden realisation—it was the final, brutal confirmation of every cold look, every dismissive comment, every calculated slight. His distaste had curdled into something dangerous, something that sought not just to hurt me but to break me.
“There she is, the radiant bride-to-be!”
The voice is light and musical, breaking me out of my dark thoughts and dread.
I step into the lounge and blink against the brightness.
The entire outer wall is a sheet of glass, flooding the interior with a brilliance that makes the pastel blue and white decor practically glow.
Underfoot, the carpet is a thick, white cloud of plush wool.
Even with the fireplace unlit, the room feels warm, saturated by the persistent reach of the afternoon sun.
A petite, blue-haired Earthbound Fae approaches, her pink eyes bright, smile wide. She takes my hand in both of hers.
“I am Saleen, your Growth Fae seamstress. I’m so honoured to be designing your wedding dress, My Lady.”
She’s like a breath of spring flowers in this dark, musty castle. I can’t help but like her, despite the reason I’m here.
She ushers me over to a round raised podium set up across from the fireplace, then pulls white gauzy curtains across the glass wall.
“Can’t have anyone else seeing the dress.” She winks.
“Thank you, Saleen.” I smile as she motions for me to remove the black dress I’m wearing, down to my white underwear. I cross my arms over my body, feeling exposed.
“Tsk.” She waves a hand. “You have nothing to hide from me, My Lady. Such a beautiful canvas on which to weave a masterpiece.”
She starts pulling long rolls of fabric from a large bag.
“The King has insisted on black and gold for the dress, but we can add our own little bit of magic to make you a dazzling bride.”
“I’m not sure about dazzling.” I glance at myself in the golden-framed full-body mirror just in front of the podium.
I look exhausted—face pale and pinched, eyes heavy with apprehension.
And then there’s the scar, as black and veiny as ever.
My hand drifts up to touch it, then falls away.
I turn my face slightly, trying to find an angle where it’s less visible, but it’s still there. Always there.
Saleen hums brightly and begins sorting through her fabrics. “Well then, let’s work some magic, shall we?”
Saleen hums as she holds up bolts of fabric, makes a face, tries another. The fabric must be made of plant fibres—I feel tingles of her Growth Gift dance over my skin as she weaves the dress with her magic. The sensation is strange, almost alive, like vines growing across my body.
We choose a glittering golden fabric for the skirt.
It cascades around my legs like sunlight.
A rich golden satin for the bodice, cut so deep at the back and cleavage it borders on indecent.
The sleeves are long, made of light sheer netting.
Her Gift weaves black webs of delicate thorn vines and roses over it all, the pattern emerging like living embroidery.
“Magnificence.” She claps her hands together.
“It’s … stunning!” I gasp.
I turn slowly from side to side. The floor-length skirt swooshes. The gossamer-thin sleeves billow around my arms. The silken bodice ripples like liquid gold.
“Your mother would have loved to see you now.”
My head shoots up. I meet her gaze and realise, with a sharp intake of breath, that this wasn’t a throwaway comment.
“You knew my mother?”
“I knew her as Wren Mothwing, of course—her name before she met your father.” Saleen’s smile softens.
“Oh, she was every bit the Warrior. Feisty, rebellious, full of herself. We met while she was training at the castle for the Thorn Guards. She would often come into the tavern with the other recruits.”
She pauses, looking me over with something like fondness.
“You’ve grown into such a beauty—just like her.”
My eyes blur. A tear escapes down my cheek.
Saleen reaches out and gently brushes it away, but I flinch as her hand nears my scar. Rather than pulling away, she cups my left cheek in her small hand.
“You are beautiful, Alaya. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.” Her voice drops as she folds back the top of the bodice on one side. “I added something just for you to your dress.”
There, sewn with golden thread, a tiny moth is hidden.
My throat tightens. I carefully fold the fabric back, tucking the secret moth away. Something that is just mine.
“You don’t treat me like the other Fae do. Why?”
Saleen’s eyes dart to the door. She moves closer, her words barely audible.
“The King keeps his subjects in check by fear, by nurturing their natural unease for anything different or unknown.”
I hold my breath, afraid to interrupt.
“We are taught that we are the superior Fae race. We are taught to hate those that threaten our tentative life here, and we are also taught to trust no one, especially those that are different.”
Her hand squeezes mine gently.
“I know there are many who are afraid of you because you are Desolate, who treat you poorly. But only because they don’t understand.” She glances at the door again. “There are those of us who remember our lives before coming here. Who remember that the Desolate were never anything to be feared.”
I’m shocked. I’d always been led to believe my state was a dirty secret, a shame I had to bear but hide—even by my parents. I’d never met another Desolate, never heard mention of any others.
“Thank you for sharing that, Saleen,” I whisper back and smile. I know how brave she was to speak against the King, even as alone as we seem.
Saleen steps back, her expression brightening. “Well, this is sure to be a spectacular wedding. Now, let’s get you out of this before you wrinkle it.”
Her hands work quickly, unfastening the small buttons at the back and loosening the bodice.
The golden fabric slides away, and I step down from the podium, suddenly cold in just my underwear again.
She gathers the dress carefully, folding it with reverent precision before tucking it into her large bag along with the remaining fabric and cutoffs as I pull my black day dress back on.
I catch one last glimpse of the golden skirt disappearing into the bag before she sweeps from the room in a flurry of movement.
In continued preparations for the wedding, I’m reminded that a week before the ceremony, we are to have a Commitment Ball—apparently a royal custom before marriage to affirm our intent to wed.
There’s a lingering lightness to my step from the unexpected fun I had during the dress fitting as I enter the Grand Ballroom for a dance lesson.
The room is of exceptional beauty. Rather than dark and foreboding like the rest of the castle, this space is full of dancing light from a huge golden glass dome arching above the centre.
A heavy-looking golden chandelier hangs down—larger than any I’ve seen elsewhere—covered in shimmering crystals like drops of ice.
Tall plain windows surround the room, lending more light to saturate the dark stone walls a lighter grey.
The floor is rich black marble, swirled with golden tendrils.
It’s breathtaking.
Three figures leaning over the grand piano in the corner turn towards me as they hear me enter.
I let out a sharp breath.
Prince Kiernan is looking annoyed, his cheeks flushed.
The tall, willowy blond Fae beside him is laughing, her hand still lightly draped over his arm as she turns with a look of scrutiny.
The General’s wife, here to instruct us.
My heart drops into my stomach as I take in the third figure.
Tall, black hair, blue glinting eyes and a cocky smile on his face.
Fuck.
I look back to Prince Kiernan. He’s staring straight at me, and I can’t quite make out the emotion that has replaced his annoyance. He looks almost apologetic, and a heat flashes across his green-eyed gaze.
“Alaya, at last.” The General’s wife trills, her heels echoing in the vast room as she walks towards me.
“Daphne Atticus, pleased to meet you, My Lady.” She bobs down slightly.
“I have been asked by the King to ensure you are both adequately instructed on the dance steps for the Commitment Ball, especially your first dance. Oh, how exciting! We haven’t had a ball in years. ”
“I don’t dance.” My prior happiness from the dress fitting is gone. Tension coils through my shoulders.
“No worries, my dear.” She smiles with a touch of pity.
“We shall go through the steps, then you can partner up and practice. Dancing is the natural flow of music to movement. Our Prince is quite a master of the dance if I remember correctly.” She simpers a smile over at Prince Kiernan, who shifts uncomfortably.
Daphne spends the next thirty minutes going through the steps that will be our official first dance.
I’m mortified to learn this will start with just Prince Kiernan and me, while the entire Court looks on.
The thought of being in that kind of spotlight—of their contempt directed at me—makes me feel nauseous.
I’m so distracted that I miss several of the instructed steps, and they all become a jumble in my head.